S is for Screwed
by TheRandomScribbler
Summary: Poor Chris. All he wanted to do was make some quick money by robbing Bruce Wayne's house. Wait! Uh...Why the heck was Batman sleeping on the couch? Oh *damn*...


**Disclaimer: I no own! Pity. **

-

"Yo, Trot, the Wayne's gonna be outta town tomorrow night," Boxer called lazily into the other room.

Chris Trot poked his head interestedly into where his pal was lounging on the couch, eating chips off his chest and flipping through the channels on the TV boredly.

"Yeah?" he said, trying to sound casual. "How long?"

Phil Boxer shook his head. "Who knows? Last time he took the whole damn ballet on his stupid yacht, remember? Gone for weeks."

Chris snorted. People like that were such idiots. Not that he would mind having ten billion dollars and being able to whisk away a posse of beautiful, slender women to a multi-million dollar yacht at a snap of his fingers, but…

"Might be a good job," Chris said thoughtfully, stroking his chin. "What about security? Anyone else live there with him?"

"Couple of cameras, an alarm system…" Phil shrugged. "Nothin' we can't pull off. And there's an old guy, his _butler_ of all things…" He laughed coarsely. "Shouldn't exactly be difficult to stuff a rag in the guy's mouth and leave him in a closet somewhere…"

"No guards?" Trot asked, rather incredulously. It seemed ridiculous that someone as rich and well-known as Bruce Wayne wouldn't have at least a couple of men guarding his property at all times.

"There were security guards when Hilton owned the place, but when Wayne burned down his mansion and moved into the penthouse, he ended up just buying the whole building and firing all the guards." Phil shrugged again. "Don't ask me why. The guy's just an idiot."

Chris grinned. "Sounds like a sweet deal to me," he said. It would be pretty easy from what Phil said. And with a guy like Bruce Wayne, there was bound to be loot just lying all over the place: cash, Rolexes, jewelry on display, rare autographed sports memorabilia…

He grinned. This was going to be too much fun.

-

And then Phil fell sick with a cold the next day. His throat was swollen, eyes were puffy, and he couldn't breathe out of his nose.

"Sorry, pal," Chris told him sympathetically. "I'm goin' anyway. I can handle the alarms and stuff. Better luck next time."

And he left. Phil was not pleased he was going without him, but there really wasn't anything he could do about it. Chris was tempted to offer generously to buy him an extra large box of the softest tissues when he was done looting Wayne's house, but decided against it due to the fact that Phil usually carried a loaded gun with him at all times and might not be in the best of moods at the moment.

He drove with his lights off until he reached the road to Wayne's penthouse. Curiously, there was no gate, no guards, nothing. Chris was faintly surprised his home had never been ransacked before with this little security on it.

Parking the car, he crept up to the penthouse. He found the electrical box and swiftly disarmed any cameras or alarms that might have been on. He left on the main electricity so the old butler man, if he was in there, wouldn't suspect anything. The outer lights he also switched off, as he planned to rappel up the side of the penthouse before entering.

With a soft _clink_ he attached his grapplehook to the side of the building and made his way to the fifth floor, where he slit the lock on the door open and slid inside, closing the door gently behind him. He made his way upstairs using the service stairs, pausing every now and again to listen for noise. There was nothing. It was completely silent. He wondered idly why a single man with just one other person living there—the butler—needed an entire building to live in—but then again, this was a frivolous, airheaded billionaire they were talking about.

Chris reached the top of the building, the actual suite, and with a soft _creak_ pushed the door open. Fearfully he looked around for any sign of people. There was none. The place was immaculate—kept so, no doubt, by the hired help of the elderly man Phil had told him about.

Chris snorted softly. This was going to be ridiculously easy. His eyes lighted up with greed as he surveyed the rich interior. There was so much _stuff _lying around, so much _valuable _stuff, all his for the taking…

He stepped fully into the suite, keeping alert. He made his way through the kitchen, through the lounge, seeking the master bedroom.

He opened another door to what seemed to lead to a living room type place, and suddenly, his footsteps froze on the lush carpeting. His heart suddenly pounded and his blood froze like ice in his veins.

"Ah—oh—what the—?"

Why the hell was _Batman _sleeping soundly on the huge white sofa in the center of the room, dangerously armed with all his toys, looking deadly even in his slumber?

Batman?

Chris opened his mouth for no reason and a little croak of fear escaped. He couldn't even turn around to flee.

His heart raced.

_Why is he here? Why? Did Wayne hire him? Can you hire Batman? How did he know I was coming? Oh damn damn damn…_

His thoughts raged in desperation.

_He took down the __**Joker**__! He'll pound me like a fly!_

"Ohh…"

He moaned, blinded by fear like a deer in headlights. The tiny noise awoke Batman. The great black-clad figure suddenly stiffened, and Chris lost his ability to breathe properly.

_He's waking up! I'm done for!_

One eye jerked open, and with it Chris jerked, too, a tiny step backward.

All Chris saw a second later was a mass of black cloack and muscle flying towards him at the speed of light, and the next thing he knew he was pinned to the ground, arms roughly twisted behind his back, the Joker's bane breathing right down his neck threateningly.

"Why are you here?" thundered the Batman, grasping his arms tighter for emphasis. Chris let out a little squeak. Batman growled threateningly.

"Answer me!" he roared, and Chris nearly wet himself from fear. "Why are you here?"

"I was wondering that about you, too," were the accursed words that flew from his mouth instead of the _I'm sorry, it won't happen again, please don't kill me_, that was supposed to come out.

"I asked you a _question_!" Batman snarled. He shoved Chris harder down into the carpet to show he meant business.

"IthoughtBruceWaynewasoutoftown," Chris squeaked in a rush. He felt like a ten-year-old girl but somehow that was okay, as long as he got out of this alive.

"And?" Batman demanded, shaking him. "What else?' he growled when Chris couldn't answer.

"Iwasgoingto ah…ah…b-borrow some st-stuff," Chris stammered. Batman's eyes darkened in fury and Chris closed his eyes as Batman reached into his utility belt.

_This is it! He's reaching for his gun! _

Batman brought his hand out. It contained a small dart. He reached to place it against Chris's neck.

"Ahh!" Chris cried, squirming away in terror. "No! Please! You can't! I have to…I can't…you can't…please…"

"What are you babbling about, fool?" Batman demanded menacingly. He began to reach toward his hostage again.

"I—I—"

"Speak coherently or shut up!" Batman barked. Chris was dumb with terror for a moment, then blurted out wildly,

"Please don't kill me, Mr. Bat!"

He held his breath. The Bat was silent for a moment.

_He's deciding my fate. He's weighing whether my life is worth anything. Oh no. I should have just been an insurance agent like my mother said…_

There was a deep rumbling sound rather like thunder. Chris flinched.

_He's laughing at me! He thinks I'm pathetic! Well…I am. But he's decided to end my pathetic life and he's laughing about it…_

He shuddered.

Then he realized…Batman was _laughing_. Actual, mirthful laughter. Well, it might have bordered a tad bit more on malice rather than mirthful, but still.

"You fool," Batman rumbled, and Chris flinched again. "You artless, petty criminal—I didn't kill the _Joker _when I had him dangling on a string in front of my face! Do you really think I'm going to kill some small-timing thief just out for kicks?"

Chris had the audacity to feel slightly indignant. He was no small-timer! Why, he'd robbed ATMs and even helped do a bank once. Then he remembered he was talking to Batman, who in his mind helped stop bank robberies twice or three times a day, and he thankfully was able to swallow any idiotic words of protest before they escaped and dug him into an ever deeper hole.

"But of course, I have other…things," Batman said suddenly. Chris's heart rate sped up.

"Uh…"

"I have ways of making my victims talk," Batman said in a chilling whisper.

"I confess!" Chris yelled. Batman paused. "I confess! I was tryin' to rob the house! I wanted to take his stuff! Don't kill me! Don't throw me out the window! Don't take over my mind!"

Batman blinked. That was definitely a new one. What exactly did the tabloids say about him?

Tiring of his little game, he shoved the small bottle in front of his victim's white face.

"This is just a sedative." Batman's voice was flat and emotionless. "When you wake up, you'll be in a jail cell. Sweet dreams."

Chris's world went black.

-

Batman glared at the unconscious form the criminal he'd just captured. He lugged the body out in the hall and shut it in the elevator and sent the elevator to the first floor. After such he called the police to come collect the body and returned upstairs, where Alfred was now waiting for him.

"A disturbance, sir?" Alfred asked cautiously.

Batman tore off his mask irritatedly to reveal the tired face of Bruce Wayne.

"We need to tighen security," he growled, using his intimidating Batman voice without realizing it. "That idiot should never have been able to get in here."

He stalked around the room, peering out each window.

"First thing tomorrow I want motion detectors installed on every floor. Alarm systems, access to which is protected by a password and fingerprint identifier. Still no cameras."

"Just a petty thief, sir?" Alfred asked rather incredulously.

Bruce nodded, very annoyed.

"May I ask what happened, Master Wayne?" Alfred asked.

"I came home shortly after two in the morning," Bruce began, pacing around the room. "You were already in bed and I decided not to wake you. You get little enough sleep as it is. But I didn't realize how tired I was and I sat down in the living room in full armor and I guess I just fell asleep. Thankfully, with my mask still on. I woke when that crook made just a little too much noise and took him out."

A little smirk lighted up his face.

"Bet he wasn't expecting Batman here, huh, Alfred?"

Alfred sighed. "I wouldn't think so, no, sir."

His face grew worried.

"Do you think…does he suspect…"

Bruce waved a hand. "Not a chance. I told the cops I was just making my rounds and saw this man creeping up to the house, so, knowing Bruce Wayne was out of town I just sneaked in and waited for the crook, at which point I caught him and called them."

He gave a dark little smile. "And I intimidated that idiot to where he won't be saying much else."

"I hope you didn't frighten him too much, Master Wayne," Alfred began apprehensively, having heard of Batman's 'skills' at intidimation.

"He woke me up," Bruce declared, as if this explained everything. Alfred rolled his eyes.

"Then in that case, sir, I think it may be time for bed?"

Bruce yawned. "Right you are, Alf." He patted the older man on the back and grinned sleepily.

"Not 'Alf', if you please, Master Wayne," Alfred said, politely as always, though it was a bit more strained than usual. Bruce, who was exhausted to the point of finding everything terribly funny, laughed a bit higher-pitched than normal.

"Whatever you say…"

"Well, I cannot say I was expecting an incident like your home being broken into to put you in such an excellent mood," Alfred commented as he escorted a suddenly-beaming Bruce to his bedroom.

"You should have seen his face, Alfred." Bruce grinned. "He looked like he'd seen a ghost!"

"In this city, what he did see was worse," Alfred replied, eyebrows raised.

"He almost wet himself," Bruce confided as Alfred helped him out of the Batsuit and into pajamas and bed. The polite old butler barely refrained from rolling his eyes.

"As much as I would love to hear more about that, sir, it's high time you went to sleep," Alfred said pointedly.

He turned the lights off and shut the door, carrying the Batsuit with intents to put it away safely.

He stopped, looked down at it, sighed.

"Master Bruce had far too much fun with that criminal, thanks to you," he told it sternly. He sighed, realizing he was talking to a costume, and put it away.

With Batman certainly came some interesting predicaments.

Alfred sighed again.

Things could only get more interesting.

He would later find out he had no idea how right he was.

-

**End.**

**I wrote this at one in the morning thanks to a little insomnia. Is potentially complete crap. Let me know. **

**TRS**


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